But the milliner’s bills proved monstrous, and the drawing-room of her house not large enough for the routs she contemplated giving. The air was too relaxing for her, and she was subject to constant attacks of the vapours that were as distressing to her household as they were to herself. The late hours made her head ache as it never ached in London, and the damp gave her a cold. Furthermore, the advent of an attractive and exceedingly wealthy little widow caused her many a bitter hour, to the considerable detriment of her good-temper.

She was lying on a couch in her white and gilt drawing room one afternoon⁠—alas! the craze for French furniture was o’er-smelling-bottle in hand and a bona fide ache in her head, when the door opened and Tracy walked into the room.

“Good heavens!” she said faintly, and uncorked her salts.